


Thirsty

by SihaXenon



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Kissing, M/M, Mind Games, Smoking, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-08 02:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SihaXenon/pseuds/SihaXenon
Summary: Eliot's looking for a prey tonight.(...)He closed his eyes, inhaling the mixture of hormones and alcohol in the air; he tried to focus on a particular smell, the sweetest in the room and…There you are.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my first story about _The Magicians_ and well, I had this nice idea about Eliot being a vampire... English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes.  
>  Enjoy!

The music was loud, hot bodies dancing so close to him that he could feel their little excited heartbeats in his ears. Blood was flowing through their veins and it was like it was calling for him.

_Drink, drink, drink._

Eliot was smoking a cigarette, eyes on the scene, trying to find the right prey for this night: he just couldn’t decide yet! There were so many and so different, all those kids from the first year. He needed the right one, as Eliot wasn’t an ordinary vampire; Margo said he was too picky sometimes, but he couldn’t help it. Somehow, he thought that if you could find the right person, his blood was even more exquisite; besides, he had got really tired of drinking blood bags. Once in a while he had to feel what was like to drink hot blood from a living human.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the mixture of hormones and alcohol in the air; he tried to focus on a particular smell, the sweetest in the room and…

_There you are._

As he opened his eyes, he finished his cigarette and tossed it in the nearest ashtray; then, he walked towards the source of that nectar. It was a guy sitting on a couch, reading a book: he had no interest in what was happening around him. That scene was nearly surreal, as it would have been completely impossible for anyone to do anything else except for dancing - but there he was, lost in his imaginary world.

Eliot smirked and went for the couch, sitting right next to that guy; he touched his tight for a second and it made him shiver, hot body against his cold one. The guy startled, looking at him with wide eyes, confused maybe.

“Hey there,” Eliot said, “sorry, did I scare you? It wasn’t my intention.”

They guy smiled nervously, “Uh, no, no, just…”

_He’s shy, he’s cute. He’s even better than I imagined._

“I’m Eliot, by the way,” Eliot said, “fancy a drink?”

“Quentin,” he introduced himself, shaking Eliot’s hand, “and, and, well, I’m not really into these parties, you know.”

“So? Aren’t you a little _thirsty_?” Eliot whispered at his ear, “let them be and follow me.”

***

The door was locked just fine: nobody would have interrupted them.

Quentin’s blood was like screaming for Eliot, its sweet perfume and unbelievable heat… It was intoxicating.

As soon as Quentin had his first drink, he seemed to be more relaxed than before; there were the two of them, boys and girls left on the improvised dance floor in the other room. And from then on, it wasn’t so hard for Eliot to seduce him: he was a vampire after all, a perfect being who used to trick his little preys.

And what a prey Quentin was… When he laughed, his heartbeat got a little faster and Eliot had to bite his lips. When he looked at him, Eliot thought that _he knew_ , he knew what was going to happen, he knew he was irresistible.

He got closer, taking Quentin’s glass in his hands and putting it on the table next to them; then he put one hand behind his head, hair though his fingers. “E-Eliot?” But Eliot didn’t reply, going right to his throat, kissing him lightly; Quentin shivered, gasping for a second.

_Drink, drink, drink._

Eliot opened his mouth, licking the salty, hot skin and – “Ah!” – he bit him, hard, wounding his flesh and tasting finally the so craved blood; he licked the gushing liquid rejoicing in it.

Quentin squirmed but Eliot kept him at his place, embracing him; “it’s okay, it’s okay,” he said to his prey, voice full of desire, “I’m not going to hurt you.” And it was true: Eliot didn’t want to kill the poor boy, he wasn’t a killer. The day after, all that he would have remembered would have been just a lovely chat with a tall dark stranger. Everyone would have been happy, end of story… But, _oh_ , it was too much! Quentin’s blood was too tempting – _stop, Eliot, stop now._

Quentin couldn’t stay on his feet, his legs were getting weaker and weaker; Eliot helped him to sit down on the floor, keeping on feasting anyway. “Fuck, you’re so good,” he whispered on his red skin.

An insane idea popped into Eliot’s mind; he was already picturing Margo getting pissed off about it. He wasn't going to let him slip away from him so easily.

He looked into Quentin’s hooded eyes, so dark in contrast to the white of his skin; then, he let him rest against the wall behind him. There was something tragically beautiful in him, a martyr. Eliot gnawed his own wrist to let the blood spill and brought it on Quentin’s parted lips.

Quentin tasted it and closed his eyes, sucking eager for it. He clutched Eliot's arm, pulling him closer, looking as desperate as ever.

“Good boy,” Eliot murmured, mischievous smile on his face, his free hand caressing his head.

_Welcome to my life._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after: Quentin had to face the consequences of what happened the night before.

As soon as Quentin opened his eyes, he knew there was something wrong with him: he had a terrible headache and he was feeling nauseous. He got up slowly, head in his hands. He had a strange dream that night – _cause it had to be a dream_ – where he talked to an older student, Eliot. Then, that same guy… bit him? He touched his neck and flinched. “Ah! What the…?” He managed to get up, going toward the mirror in his bedroom. God, he looked dreadful as if he hadn’t slept at all; dark circles around his eyes, paler skin… He tilted his head, staring at an unmistakable bite mark on his neck.

 

First, Quentin laughed. No, it couldn’t be! Vampires, in Breakbills? Was the Dean even aware of that?

 

_That older student looked like one of those models you only get to admire in some magazines: he was taller than him, devilish handsome, dark eyes and sinful lips._ _Eliot’s gaze was upon him and he felt blessed, he needed him, he had never desired something so much in his whole life._

_"Good boy", he whispered and Quentin rejoiced and drank from his wrist…_

 

Quentin gasped as the memories came back, one after the other; he stared at his reflection and opened his mouth but there were no strange fangs, just his teeth. Everything seemed to be completely normal except for the mark on his neck.

 

His stomach was growling; he needed something to eat and drink. Maybe it was just a joke. Or maybe he was experiencing some kind of low blood sugar... Yes. He needed to breathe and relax.

 

He finally got out his room and went downstairs; it seemed like the party had ended very late as there were some girls still sleeping on the couch, a guy passed out on the floor. They all looked happy and satisfied, with stupid smiles on their faces and no strange bite marks on theirs skin, at least.

 

He sighed as he found a chocolate bar in the kitchen and opened it: he was right about to bite it when he had to put it down on the table. Now he felt sick at the idea of eating anything.

 

Maybe it was the flu. He had a cold. Or he had become mad in the end.

 

“Hi, Q.”

 

Quentin’s eyes widened in surprise as he heard _that_ voice: oh, god, he’s real. He turned back and there he was Eliot. He was lining against the doorjamb, one leg crossed over the other, cigarette in one hand, eyes staring at him quite pleased. "How are you feeling?” He asked.

 

“I-It’s you!” Quentin nearly chocked.

 

Eliot nodded, now amused. “Yeah, I know, right? It’s me,” he took a drag on his cigarette, “but for real, how are you feeling?”

 

_Like shit_ would have been the right answer; instead Quentin asked, “w-what do you mean?” It was getting harder to keep on standing, his heart was beating fast and his headache was making him dizzy. He was getting worse every second more. Was it Eliot’s fault? “What did you do to me?”

 

But Eliot didn’t answer him as he was looking at the untouched chocolate bar on the table and laughed. Then, he took another drag and got closer to Quentin, taking his chin under his free hand. “Your eyes are getting darker. That’s good.” Then, he made him open his mouth, and he smiled, “oh, hello, little fangs!” He sounded excited, caressing one of Quentin’s canines with his finger.

 

Quentin tried to move away from his touch but in vain: he was under Eliot’s spell, whichever was. Some primeval force deep inside his mind was telling him he could trust the older student.

 

_You’ll be okay. I’ll make you feel okay, he had said._

 

Eliot let him go. “You remember.” It wasn’t a question. “You remember what happened last night.”

 

Quentin moaned helplessly – he needed something to take the pain away. His head was buzzing and even the simplest of the thoughts was getting hard to elaborate. “P-Please do something,” he managed to say, mouth dry.

 

Eliot put his cigarette between his own lips and then took a transparent bag of red liquid from his pocket; of course it was enchanted or a bag of that size would have never fit in there. "You need this."

 

It was blood, of course it was blood, what else do vampires drink? He was a vampire now, so he had to drink it to feel alive. Quentin wondered if he had stepped into some kind of horror story where he was the victim and Eliot the main character, prince of darkness.

 

_Oh god, I must be tripping._

 

Eliot gave him the bag and Quentin bit into the plastic right away. _I've got fangs_ , he thought, sucking the warm liquid, tasting iron on his tongue. He closed his eyes and groaned in relief as his stomach was finally full, his headache was gone. He felt satisfied.

 

Meanwhile, Eliot didn't move, finishing his cigarette and making it disappear into thin air.

 

The bag was empty.

 

“Well done.” Eliot smiled and got closer to his face, touching Quentin's blood stained lips with his own. Quentin opened his lips to deepen the kiss.

 

Right or wrong, he couldn't tell it anymore: all that mattered was the feeling of those lips against his own, the taste of blood into his mouth.

 

Vampires were real and Eliot's lust was the proof.


End file.
